


Bonum Mortem

by gaysquared



Category: Fairy Tail
Genre: Background Laxus Dreyar/Freed Justine, Discussion of Dead bodies, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Grief/Mourning, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Its okay to not be okay, Lucy/Cana if you squint but also Cana’s a flirt so, Male-Female Friendship, Multi, Wakes & Funerals, honest discussions about death
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-05-11
Updated: 2019-06-25
Packaged: 2020-03-01 03:28:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,150
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18792067
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gaysquared/pseuds/gaysquared
Summary: “The Good Death.”Drabbles and ruminations on death and grieving within FT.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> So my grandmother has been in liver failure for a while and... idk. We live in a very deathphobic society; we don’t like to talk about these things. I’ve had to come to terms with the fact that she likely will not live another year (maybe even six months).
> 
> And that’s okay. And considering how hard Mashima works to make death almost totally non-permanent in his stories, to shun it and reserve it only for side characters; maybe this is a good fandom to do this in. Because let’s talk about it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title is inspired by Caitlin Doughty, aka Ask a Mortician on YouTube, and her group The Order of the Good Death. She seeks to spread death positivity (eliminating death-phobia and promoting a healthy relationship with death and grief). 
> 
> If you’re interested, besides her YouTube channel, she also has a podcast called Death in Afternoon, available wherever you can find podcasts. 
> 
> Makarov Dreyar’s funeral. A permanent one.

The sun is long and golden in the late hours of the afternoon, casting the viewing room in some preternatural glow. Erza blinks the fire-red out of her own eyes, hair glaring in the sunset, and undoes one of the buttons of her dark coat. They’re starting to take the flowers down; the picture will be next, surely. That’s alright; it’s a shitty picture. He looks too young, not at all the man she knew. 

“Everything’s taken care of,” Mira is saying, and Erza jumps slightly, not having noticed her. “I’m going to go home.”

“Okay.” Erza lets out a sigh, stretching her legs in front of her. 

“You stay as long as you need to; they don’t close until eight. I’ll keep some food warm for you.” Mira crouches slightly, giving her an open look, and Erza realizes she’s waiting for permission to hold her. 

She hugs her wife, sitting up from her hunched position, and breathes into Mira’s hair. “Thank you,” she says, too quietly, and she knows it. “I don’t think I’ll be too long. Maybe another hour.”

“Okay,” Mira replies, quiet as well. “Get in touch if anything comes up. I’ll wait up for you.”

They finish their fair-wells, Mira giving her a soft kiss, before the woman leaves the building with a gentle smile.

They’d all gone back to the funeral home after the burial for an afternoon lunch; but that was more than a few hours ago, and Erza knows she’s one of the last stragglers left. She readjusts herself on the metal chair, which groans in protest. 

“Wasn’t so bad, huh?”

Erza turns her head to see Laxus, still in suit and tie, but with his jacket on his arm and his shirt untucked. She gives a small tip of her head. 

“Pretty decent, honestly. A disappointing lack of surprises, though.”

Laxus relents a small smile at that, sitting down next to her, pulling a chair out of its perfect row. “Coffee?” he offers, holding up a traveler’s cup. Erza gives it an appraising look, and he finishes, “it’s Irish,” with a small but wolffish grin.

Erza grabs it from him, fighting a smile. “I take it all back. You’re one of the most tolerable motherfuckers I know.”

Laxus snorts as she sips her coffee, taking a drink of his own cup. “Just tea for me,” he explains. “Freed’ll get worried the moment he smells it. Plus, at the moment, it feels like a one way ticket to a bad habit.”

“Definitely understandable.” Erza takes another sip, appreciating the little twist on her tongue. “How is he?”

“Too attentive,” Laxus answers, and Erza shoots him an amused look. “Don’t get me wrong. He’s amazing. Of course he is. He just...” Laxus sits back in his seat, sighing. “He’s so worried about me, and how _I’m_ feeling. It’s like he doesn’t realize he gets to be sad too. The old man took us _all_ in, including him.”

Erza swallows. “Maybe it’s easier for him. To focus on you. To quarantine the pain like that.”

Laxus looks up, studying her, and gives a nod. “Yeah. Yeah, I wouldn’t blame him.”

They pass a moment in silence; not entirely awkward, but not exactly comfortable either. The air smells floral and soft, but stale, and a little like dust. 

“Are you angry he gave me power of attorney?” Erza says, suddenly. Laxus gives her a surprised look.

“What? I— no. I’m not... angry. I mean, I didn’t even know until—“ The man shakes his head, rubbing at the space between his eyes. “I haven’t exactly always proven my reliability. So I don’t blame him. And you; well, you’d be much better at trying to stay impartial, even being close to him.”

“I’d like to think so,” Erza says, voice croaking slightly. “I’m glad it didn’t come down to it.” She pauses for a beat, letting herself breathe. “I’m sure you’ve spoken to the Executor of his estate.”

Laxus gives a small laugh, shaking his head. “Yes, I managed to talk to your wife today, thank you.”

Erza shrugs. “She’s always handled the money. No reason to stop now, I guess.”

“Seems he agreed,” Laxus says honestly. “I thought you’d be upset.”

“About what?”

“About the part where he says he hopes I’m guild-master some day.”

Erza blinks, throat feeling thick. “Oh. God, I don’t even remember which document that was.”

“He doesn’t get to choose, you know,” Laxus says, leaning in a bit closer. “Not how it works.”

“I know,” Erza says, with a shrug and a humorless laugh. “To be honest, I haven’t even had time to think about it. Maybe in a week, a month, yeah, but...”

“Everyone wants you anyway.”

“I know.”

Laxus stills, and looks out the window. “I’m not sure I want it. I don’t know, maybe someday. But you’re here now. And he’d be proud of you, too.”

Running a hand through her hair, Erza gives a large sigh. “Well. We’ll see.”

Laxus looks back to her, face going soft. “Yeah. We’ll see.”

Another beat passes, Erza sipping at her coffee, and the golden light begins to wane. The workers are still cleaning up the display, seemingly unbothered by the audience. 

Suddenly, Laxus says, “I have to say, I really liked the floral arrangements at Lisanna’s funeral more, and she didn’t even stay dead.”

Erza nearly chokes. “Oh my god,” she says, half-laughing, and sets down her cup. “I hate that it’s true.”

“Lillies just seem a bit... tacky.”

“Says the man who was definitely dressed by his husband this morning,” Erza replies with a huff. 

Laxus raises his hands in mock surrender. “I can admit when he’s smarter than I am. That’s a strength, not a weakness.”

Erza laughs into her scarf, noticing a worker giving them a confused look. Whatever, she thinks. They’ve no doubt seen worse and weirder. 

“When he went I thought he looked more bored than peaceful,” Laxus admits.

Erza nods, inclined to agree. It was nice, she thinks, though; to see a body loved and taken care of; handled personally, delicately, after death. She’d seen so many bodies abandoned to rot in fields during the war. This was definitely much, much better. 

“To the old man,” Laxus says, raising the travel cup. “And spouses we can only hope to deserve.”

Yeah. Much better. 

“Here, here,” Erza says, raising her cup to meet his.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There’s a good chance there will be more of these, but I don’t have anything concrete planned and I can’t be sure when.
> 
> On Erza and Laxus’ friendship here; I think there’s something comforting when going through a hard time to have someone joke with you and be honest with you. A lot of people are trying to protect you and your feelings during these painful periods, but sometimes it ends up feeling like you’re being coddled. And that’s normal. 
> 
> Luckily there are often certain relationships we can turn to in order to cope with a little bit of humor and sarcasm; and return to that feeling of authenticity.


	2. Hey, Jude

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Jude Heartfilia’s death got, like, absolutely no resolution in the manga, and still not a lot in the anime, so... here I am. I’m following anime canon (aka this includes the Starry Sky arc). 
> 
> First scene is Lucy finding out about her father’s death, then it jumps to just after the Starry arc. 
> 
> Some references to alcohol below. And death, obviously. Duh.

_ x791. The Love and Lucky Guild.  _

 

It’s a lot to take in... of course it is. She can hear the ceiling fan whirring above her, feeling impossibly loud, the package of letters sandwiched under her arm; and she clears her throat, face hot. 

“Thank you,” she says for the third time in the last thirty seconds, voice thin. “For everything.” She looks up, realizing; sucks in a breath. “I should ask; he was— He didn’t have any money. Who... who paid for the burial?”

The woman in front of her blinks, cocking her head. “Ah. That would be... Mr. Neville, I believe. From the Archeological Society. He said he owed it to him.”

“Mr. Neville?” Lucy repeats, trying the words on her tongue. “Alright. Thank you.”

______________

_three months later_

 

“And you’re still doing well, since the uh; incident?” The man in front of her asks, handing her a cup of coffee. They’re in his office, inside an old building full of files and antiques. 

“Since being kidnapped? Yes, I’m fine. It wasn’t the first time by far.” Lucy shifts in her seat at his desk, finger tracing the cup in front of her.

The older man doesn’t seem comforted by this answer, which isn’t surprising; his fingers worry at his mustache. “Ah. I’m glad you’re doing well, regardless.”

“Thank you, Mr. Neville,” she says automatically. “I know it must seem.... a bit late for me to come inquiring, but as you can probably guess I’ve been... busy. Between that and being away when he passed, I...”

“It’s totally understandable,” Neville reassures her, waving a hand. “And please, call me Jean-Luc.”

Lucy nods, accepting. “Jean-Luc. Of course.” She hasn’t touched her coffee, stomach squirming. 

“I’m sure you have plenty of questions,” the man continues. “Should we start with—?”

“The finances,” Lucy says, too quickly, and she curses herself inside. “I don’t really have any money, but if you were looking for any sort of compensation, I’m sure we could set up a payment plan—“

The man pauses, having prepared to sit down in his chair. “Oh, no. No, no. I would never. Jude did me a favor that ended in his death and I owed it to him to see him taken care of. I would never ask anything of you.”

Lucy blinks, breathing out a sigh, secretly relieved. “Oh. I apologize for presuming, then.” Her hands are anxious in her lap. She doesn’t want to be here; she wants to go home, take a bath, sleep for a long, long time; but this is important. 

“It’s alright.” Jean-Luc sits, straightening out his hair and reaching for his own coffee. “But as for the finances, he didn’t particularly have his affairs in order, so it was somewhat tricky to resolve— oh, my, not that I mean it was any burden on my part—“ the man reddens slightly, clearing his throat with embarrassment. “Again, I was happy to help.”

“It’s fine,” Lucy offers, voice much more quiet than she intended. “I know he was in a lot of debt.”

“Yes... but luckily, it’s illegal to transfer debt to next of kin in Magnolia,” Jean-Luc says. “So you have nothing to worry about on that end. If anybody comes asking for money, don’t be afraid to tell them to go to hell.”

Lucy lets out a smile for the first time that day. “I will, thank you.”

Jean-Luc nods, giving a soft grin back. “The only thing your father expressly asked for after death was to be buried next to your mother. I’m afraid the headstone we were able to give him didn’t quite match the quality of hers, but we did our best.”

Lucy’s breath catches in her throat, the emotion surprising her. “Oh,” she says, and it sounds so small— “That’s alright. As long as they’re together.”

“I could take you there, if you like,” Jean-Luc says, checking his watch. “I have the afternoon free today, so it wouldn’t be any trouble.”

“I’d like that,” the blonde says after a moment, so quiet it sets off some sort of ringing in her ears. Another ceiling fan; clinking on and on above her. Her coffee must be cold. 

“Ah, before I forget,” the archeologist is saying, opening a drawer in his desk. He pulls out what looks like a small jewelry bag, navy blue, and hands it to her. “He wanted you to have these.”

Confused; she thought she’d already been given everything he wanted her to have; she opens the bag, jumping slightly as she sees the contents. Three gold dental crowns; one of which is attached to a whole tooth; a molar that’s been pulled completely free from the jaw. 

“Oh my,” Lucy says. _Holy shit, dad._

“Sorry to surprise you,” Jean-Luc interjects. “I forget sometimes others aren’t so used to human remains. In archeology, they’re unavoidable. I’ve seen plenty weirder things than that, though. You’d be surprised at what can mummify.”

Lucy suppresses a bewildered snort, looking down at the gold again. _I’m surprised he didn’t rip these out himself and sell them_ , she thinks, and then immediately admonishes herself for it. 

Jean-Luc has already grabbed his coat. “Shall we go?”

“Of course.”

 

____________

 

Her mother’s headstone is a beautiful white and creamy-pink marble; her father’s a gritty, murky granite. It’s not terrible, she thinks. Her father as she knew him when she was a child would’ve hated it, though; which is almost a vindictively happy thought. 

The grass is a bit dry below her knees; Jean-Luc had gone to wait in the car to give her privacy; and she finds herself growing tired of kneeling. She moves to sit, crossing her legs. Her father would say it’s unladylike. She doesn’t know what her mother would think; can’t remember that far back. 

She has no lighter, no incense; another point against her as a daughter, she supposes. But if they really were keeping score, she doesn’t think she’d be the one worse off, between her and the old man. 

“45 sure is young,” she says, sweeping her thumb idly back and forth over the grass. “But I guess a cursed hand isn’t a genetic condition, so maybe I’ll be alright, huh?”

The granite stares coldly back at her. Well, conversations with her father really haven’t changed with death, then, have they? The thought gives her a small laugh. 

“You know, I did think we’d have more time,” Lucy says, tilting her head. “I gave up on having a normal relationship a long time ago, but—“ She clears her throat. “I thought someday we might reconcile. And it wouldn’t be like other people who are actually close to their parents, you know; not at all; but it’d at least have been better. Maybe we’d even have celebrated holidays together, after a while.”

She looks back at the headstone, feeling tired. “You always worked every holiday. That might’ve been nice.”

Her throat gets tight, feeling horrible and twisted up. “You know, you can’t just say how much you love someone and expect it to fix everything. I’m not saying you didn’t love me, I think you did—“ She bites her lip, closing her eyes. “But where was it, all those years, huh? You can’t just say you’re proud and you love me after you’re dead when you could never show it even once when you were alive.” The breath leaves her lips slowly, slowly as she tries to steady herself. “What kind of coward does that, you know?”

Silent stone. That’s all that sits in front of her. Somehow, though, it’s comforting to know nothing’s changed. Their conversations were always one-sided. He always had the warmth of sleet in January; she wouldn’t know what to do with anything else. The groveling the last time she’d seen him had been horrible enough. 

“Why wasn’t I good enough when you were alive, huh?” She feels a sullen, hot tear roll down her cheek. “Why wasn’t I good enough to love when you could actually tell me, hold me? Why wait? What was so wrong with me?” She chokes on the sob in her throat, trying to shake it away. “I know it’s not about that. It’s about you being a stunted asshole. But still.” 

A few quiet moments. A heavy sigh, and the schlick of her wiping her nose on her sleeve. “At least you knew I loved you. Couldn’t be kind to me in person until I showed my hand, though... God, you were kinda fucked up? Yell at your daughter to give you money and then praise her when she worries about you getting in trouble. What a mindfuck, honestly.”

A thought occurs, and she lets out a laugh that’s slightly delirious. “But thanks for the presents. Belated as they are.”

At least he was a constant, she thinks. She could count on him to never change, even if he was awful to be around. It was a strange, comforting stability, that.

“Say hi to mom for me. I never know how to talk to her. It’s not like I’d know what to say. I barely remember her.” 

She pulls a weed sitting at the base of the headstone, pulling gently until it comes out by the root. “Sorry if I was a bit too honest. But you know me. I don’t think you’d‘ve liked it any other way.”

Slowly, Lucy unwinds her body, her joints creaking and her limbs protesting from having stayed in one position for so long. She sighs, looking up at the late afternoon sun, and wipes at her eyes. 

As she stands, she says, “Bye, dad. And bye, mom. I’ll be back eventually.”

 

____________

 

After getting home, she’d jumped in the shower, pulled on underwear and a T-shirt, and flopped right into her bed. She’s not sure how much time passes like that; she doesn’t quite sleep; more like drift fever hot and half-lucid between memories and images and waking life, although her skin is completely cool. 

Eventually, there’s a knock on the door; at least her friends are being considerate enough to knock, now. 

She pulls herself up, a tired mess of limbs, and traipses to the door, pulling it open and blinking at the inky night outside. 

“Hi, stranger,” Cana says, giving her a once over. She leans against the doorframe like she owns the place, but considering she’s done far worse in Lucy’s home, it’s easily forgivable. “You really must be having a shitty day to come to the door without pants on.”

Lucy looks down and; oh, whoops. Yeah. Should’ve thought of that.

“What’s up,” she asks, only closing the door slightly so she isn’t visible like this from the street.

Cana rolls her eyes. “I brought tequila, chocolate cake, and Julia Roberts, that’s what’s up. Now move, let me in.”

Lucy relents, too tired to argue. “Look at that. I guess you do care.” It’s monotone and clearly sarcastic, but Cana gives her a wink anyway. 

“I know! You better wife me up before somebody else comes and steals me.”

Lucy shuts the door behind her friend, letting out a snort. “What’re we gonna drink with tequila that goes with chocolate cake? You should’ve brought, like, Irish cream.”

Cana laughs, putting down the goodies in her arms onto the couch. “First of all, the intention wasn’t to drink Sunrises like we’re classy, it was to get fucked up; and what, you don’t want citrus and chocolate together?” A grandiose display of mock-surprise. “ _What’s wrong with you?_ ”

“I would say the dead dad, but I think I’d be disgusted regardless.”

At this, Cana gives her a soft look. “Hey. Team daddy issues in here, okay? This is a safe space. All you have to do is choose who you’d like to see first; Richard Gere, Hugh Grant, or Dermot Mulroney.”

“Richard Gere.”

Cana smiles, gives her a look. “The silver fox. See, daddy issues club!”

Lucy can only shake her head, trying to hide a smile. “Speaking of, Natsu will probably try to drop by soon, knowing him.”

Cana pouts, giving Lucy another once over. “Shame. We could’ve had some quality alone time.” She wriggles her eyebrows. “But it’s fine, I guess. You think he’ll like Mr. Gere?”

“He probably will, honestly,” Lucy says, laughing at the thought.

“Great,” Cana pauses as she moves to the kitchen, presumably to get forks for the cake. Hopefully cups as well, for the tequila, but Lucy wouldn’t bet on it. “Now go put some pants on.”

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Is the title of this chapter original? No! But it’s where Mashima got the inspiration for Jude’s name anyway, so I think it’s allowed. 
> 
> Sorry if you’re not a Julia Roberts fan bc those references will probably make no sense, lol. 
> 
> (For the next month after watching Pretty Woman you know Nastu will randomly go “BIG mistake. HUGE!” and just walk out of the guild bc he lives for that Drama)


End file.
